


Flesh Memories

by alyxpoe



Series: Sophie Holmes [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 07:29:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyxpoe/pseuds/alyxpoe





	Flesh Memories

I lie here, my forehead covered in sweat, my black hair pulled back away from my face. It is a drenched ponytail against the white pillowcase. The pain has passed, for now. I know it will start again very soon. I close my eyes and rest against the pillow, feeling the sheet beneath me. For the moment, I am calm and I can remember.

I remember the feeling of the deep saddle under my seat. The way the leather reaches up and curves around my thighs. I remember the way the broad back feels, muscles working under me. I can sit back in the depths of the seat and I can feel the warmth of the fur under my bare calves. My long skirt brushes against shaven-legs. It feels as good to me as my tight black boots and the sun on my face. I stand up in the stirrups a little and the body underneath me gives a spurt of energy, a little jolt full of joy. _Joie de vivre._

I laugh and grasp the reins with one hand, my sturdy bow in the other. I drop the reins to the muscular neck and for an instant, I see them lie flat black against the long glossy black mane. I look back to the target and I steady my thighs against the stirrups, my body steady against this custom-made platform that I work off of. A snort, a soft whuffle as the horse canters underneath me and then bows her head down slightly like I taught her to do. She lines us up to the targets with nothing but a nudge from one of my knees. I pay no attention to the bright colors of the ground around us; nor do I really _see_ the green grass nor the rainbow of banners hung around the field. 

I pull the string back on the bow, steady now. Steady. My hand never trembles; I like that I am like you in this way. 

The pain comes again, stronger this time, violently pulling me back into the present. When I can rest again, I slip back under, the memory picks up where I stopped no more than if I reached down and picked my book up off the floor and instantly found my place. 

I am calm. All I can see now is the red, yellow and orange of the target. I am up on my toes, trusting my horse to keep us straight and not to stumble. In my head, I can see the bright metallic flash of your shoes in the bright sunlight. When I am here, like this, I feel like I've gone back in time to a different world. It's okay, though, I learned a long time ago how to move between them both. Finally! Our first target is within reach. My thighs grip the saddle and I lean forward into the pommel and fire. The arrow leaves my fingers with a zing and smacks the dry-grass stuffed target with a loud _whump_. I don't look at it as we speed past, but I'm pretty sure that was close to the bull's-eye, if not right on it. I blindly reach behind me and grasp another arrow out of the purple leather quiver on my back. Papa's gift. I move quickly and line up the next shot. _Zing. Whump._ Grap, insert, line-up, fire. Keeping my balance on my toes, the horse keeping her head below my line of sight. 

We finish all five targets this way and its time to show the audience your new trick. As we come to the end of the line, I swing the bow over my shoulder and sit down in the saddle. I think they are cheering, but I can't really hear them from down here. I am happy that they like my horse as much as I do. With just my legs, I ask you to spin to the right. I smile, knowing how impressive that looks what with the feather flying around your feet, your long tail streaming out behind and all that fantastic mane. Now I do hear them clapping. I wonder if you understand that it is for you? We straighten back up and gallop towards the starting line. I can hear your hooves pounding the ground beneath us, and just like at home, I lean down against your neck as much as the bow on my shoulder allows me to do. 

With a squeeze from my legs, you drop from a gallop to a canter and into a slow, high-stepping trot within a few strides. Only now do I pick up the reins. I feel your back muscles tense, you know this next part and I think you enjoy it. I push all my weight to the balls of my feet as your forelegs leave the ground to paw in the air. This is so much fun! I hear more applause and I look up to the stands and I see all three of you, my fathers and another man that has come to mean so much to me. It certainly has been a long, hard road to get here. 

This time I can't help it. I feel myself cry out. But there are soothing words and a cool, damp cloth. I mumble "thank you, Daddy," but I am wishing it was you instead. You picked a bad time to enlist, but I can understand. I know you love me and you just want what's best for us. 

My body remembers the feel of a horse underneath me on a beautiful day, or a cool evening ride with you by my side. Holding your hand in one of mine and the reins only perfunctorily in the other. She and I have been together and I do not need to guide her. We follow each other. You know most of our story; turns out you were always here, just in the wings of my play, waiting to come onstage at the right moment. 

One more blinding flash of pain. I wonder if I will still be myself after all of this. Will I still love you the same way? Will I be able to ride again? Will my fingers forget how to knock a bow? Is this what it was like for you during those months of being undone? Did you forget how to pick up your instrument and play?

I am suddenly struck with paralyzing fear. I can't do this. I can't. I will be hopeless. I want to still be myself. It's the only person I know how to be. 

A voice close to my ear, a long hand with long, thin fingers grasping my wrist on the other side. Daddy's voice "You are going to be fine, Sophie. Just relax and let it happen. It will all be over soon, love, I promise." I look up to you and see tears in your eyes. I am afraid I will leave you. I think I say this part out loud because you cradle my head with your hands and tell me to just let the tears fall, that its okay. I trust you. You have been there beside me for as long as I can remember. You are the strong one. 

Then there are more people here with me, another sharp pain and then two things happen at the same time. The loud, sharp cry of a baby pulling nitrogen and oxygen into its lungs for the first time, and the loud, sharp ring of a mobile phone. An aggravated grunt and the long, thin fingers that have been in my hair are pulled away. Papa's deep voice telling whoever is on the phone that now is not the time and it's really too bad your mom is sleeping with the piano teacher but he's got more important things to attend to....and a slight snort of irritation when Daddy plucks the phone from your fingertips. I love you both so much. 

And then I see you. Oh my god. You are tiny and squirmy and gooey and covered with some nasty stuff like looks like slime. And I'm crying and holding out my hands. They hand you to me, you are so tiny. I hold you against my chest and I can only hope that you appreciate my heart beat as much from the outside. They reach over to you after a while and a nurse holds you gently and sponges off the goo. You make funny little mewling sounds and when you are back in my arms you are surrounded by a soft, pink blanket. My overtaxed brain supplies the term "pink burrito" and I've got the giggles. I can't help it, I'm shaking and quivering and laughing so hard. Daddy chuckles and reaches out to pick you up out of my arms. Papa growls from my other side and before I know it, the great Sherlock Holmes is waltzing around my room, looking dashing as always with his wild curly hair and temples touched with silver, his eyes are locked on your tiny face. I say to you both that I can't imagine there's much to deduce about a baby less than one hour old and you look at me and then to Daddy and you smile. Daddy makes an "oh" sound and I can feel love all around me. And we all laugh and it's wonderful and I think that I am still _me._

 _  
_Then we notice that there is someone else in the room staring at this tiny baby in my Papa's arms and I am leaning against Daddy's chest feeling the laughter there. He holds me tight and I lock eyes with you across the room as you stare at your daughter. For a moment, I can appreciate the maleness of you in your camouflage fatigues and your beret just-so over your eyes. If I wasn't so tired right now, I'd jump up and just eat you up. It's been a hard six months, but there you are. Papa accepted you years ago when you showed your care for me, so now, when you hold out your arms, he gently places his granddaughter in them, though he still seems reluctant to give her up. She's got his and my black hair and your blue eyes. I watch you and I see your tears fall. There is a gentle pat on my shoulder and Daddy holds his hand out toward Papa. Then we are alone; I can still feel Daddy's arms around my shoulders. You lay the baby in my arms and scoot up into the bed beside me. My head finds your chest and you hold us both close, you tell us that you missed us and it won't be much longer and you will always be home. It's good, I say to you, because it really is. I have my strong support system and they love you, too. You laugh with me and tell me about the brolly thump on the tile floor of the hospital that got you right into my room as soon as you arrived; you tell me of the shiny black car waiting for you at the airport. I laugh, but I am starting to tire, it's been such a long day.

  
You gently take the baby from my arms and you lay her in the little bassinet brought into the room by the nurses. You stand for a moment, looking down at her. Enthralled. I marvel at the fact that even in uniform, you are still _you_. I was afraid before, but I know that we can do this, together. We are surrounded by love. Just as I start to slip under, I hear the door open. It's someone else with papers we need to sign. I nod at you, feeling sleep running gentle caressing hands across my cheeks, my forehead, my body. I need to rest. You smile back at me and sign the documents, its good you can do that; the gold ring around my finger is only a symbol but sometimes a lifeline and sometimes a medieval wax seal, permission. 

One more question you have for me before I can succumb. 

"Sophie, what is her name?" I open my eyes and I consider for only a moment. I haven't had time to tell you the homage I wanted to pay to a great person, to someone who gave my life and my family to me. I'll say it anyway, and if you don't like it, you can change it. You know I'll respect your decision as you always respect mine.

You do not even flinch when I say the name, you understand. I love you even more in this moment than I have in every one leading up to this. I watch as sleep overtakes me when you write the name "Molly" on the baby's birth certificate. 

 


End file.
